


In your hands

by RhinoHill



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: #vss365, F/M, Prompt Fic, Slow Burn, Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhinoHill/pseuds/RhinoHill
Summary: “For… my commanding officer?” Heat flushed across my cheeks before I could chase it away.Alyssa’s wizened face crinkled into her smile. “What a quaint term! You T’auri are still remarkably patriarchal for such an advanced civilisation”My blush turned crimson as I understood her meaning. “No! No, not in that sense!” I stammered. “He’s in charge of me. At work. We just work together!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A slightly expanded version of the tweet-length ficlet written for the June 8 #vss365 prompt, #motif.
> 
> Nothing serious, just a little moment of sweetness for a Sunday night.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who adds sweetness to my days by reading, leaving kudos and comments!
> 
> xo

_Sam_

Ink danced up my arm.  
A delicate motif of multicoloured words, repeated, folding into flowers.

The matriarch put down her brush. “That’ll do,” she nodded to herself.

“Thank you so much, really, for making us feel so welcome.” I touched the folds of the long blue dress they’d given me to wear to the dinner they were holding in our honour.

“You saved our planet, dear. It’s the least we could do.”

“We’re grateful we could find a way to help.”

I looked down at my arm, uncomfortable with the conversation. We were only doing our jobs. We didn’t want to be treated as heroes. At least, I didn’t. And based on Jack’s relief when the presidential medal ceremony was cancelled last month, he felt the same. I smiled to myself as I remembered his grumblings in DC. The words composing the flowers which grew delicately up my arm were beautiful to look at. The ink seemed to shimmer in the light, but somehow the words dissolved back into their patterns when I tried to read them.

I twisted my arm and craned my neck, with no success. “It’s beautiful, Alyssa. What does it say?”

“They’re not for you to read, dear, they’re for him.”

“For… my commanding officer?” Heat flushed across my cheeks before I could chase it away.

Alyssa’s wizened face crinkled into her smile. “What a quaint term that is! You T’auri are still remarkably patriarchal for such an advanced civilisation!”

My blush turned crimson as I understood her meaning. “No! No, not in that sense!” I stammered. “He’s in charge of me. At work. We just work together!”

A look of knowing amusement took in my red face. “Okay, dear. If you say so. Now, I think you’re ready. Shall we go? Your commanding officer must be waiting by now.”

With a small grimace, I followed her out of her bungalow, and almost walked straight into you, waiting at the door. Your tanned skin stood out against the crisp white, open-necked shirt you’d been given to wear. It was cut just low enough to show a hint of hair curling on your chest. I forced my eyes back up to yours and found your mouth pursed into a silent whistle.

“Nice colour on you, Carter,” you said with a slow wink that turned me crimson again. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Alyssa’s delighted smile and quickly glanced away from her.

“Well, major, shall we?” You’d turned away from my burning face with that gentle tact that I loved so much, and were standing next to me, facing Alyssa, your right arm offered out for me to take. With a smile and a shake of the head, I lifted my arm to fold it into yours.

Your eyes caught the dancing lines on my bare skin. “Carter, I didn’t know you had a tattoo?”

“Oh, no, that’s Alyssa’s work!” I risked another look at her. Innocence itself stared back at me.

“Nice. You could keep it. Suits you.” With gentle fingers, you caught my arm in both your hands and lifted it as you bent closer to read the words aloud: “The love you seek is in your hands.”


	2. Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wakes in the infirmary, with a headache from hell.  
> And an extra voice inside his head.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @rsundayr posted this on Twitter:
> 
> https://twitter.com/rsundayr/status/1235905131826286593?s=20
> 
> And I couldn't help it - I just HAD to find out where it led...
> 
> Enjoy, unicorns!
> 
> \--oOo--

_Jack_

Something is sitting on my chest. The pressure bulges up my neck and down into my gut. I want to vomit, but the pounding in my brain warns me off. Inch by sickening inch, the world comes back into focus.

The smell of alcohol. The whirr and beep of medical monitors. Cool sheets against my bare legs under the hospital gown. Sensations I associate with the SGC infirmary. But also a far more enticing scent. Lemon and vanilla. The whisper of silky hair against my arm. As if she’s sitting near me.

A sound penetrates the painful mist in my head.  
No. Not a sound. A presence. Like a thought nestled next to my own.

_-Please be okay, Jack. Please be okay. I can’t lose you. Please, please, be okay.-_

A thought spoken in her voice.  
I squeeze my eyes more tightly shut to isolate the words.

_-Please, Jack. Please. I love you. Don’t leave before I can tell you that.-_

A soft hand curls around mine.

I crack my right eye open against the blinding pain.

“Sam?” My voice scrapes around a raw throat.

“Sir?” _-Oh, thank you, Jack. Thank you, thank you.-_ “Sir, you’re awake. Wait, I’ll get you some water.”

Her voice. Both times, her voice. But one louder, the other closer. As if she’s speaking out loud and then inside me.

A straw presses against my lips and her hand holds my head up to help me sip and swallow. I try to find her face against the glare of lights. Her eyes are huge, grey, brimming with concern.

“Carter, what happened?” I ask as she releases my head onto the pillow. My throat feels a little smoother after the water, at least.

Her fingers hover uncertainly next to my cheek, and an image flashes behind my eyes, of her hands cupping my jaw, her lips pressing against my mouth. 

“We’re not sure, sir.”

Her voice snaps me out of the vision and I find her staring at her hand, now firmly clamped around the metal rail at the edge of my bed.

“You were fine until we stepped back through the gate from PX0305. Stepped in conscious, collapsed out in a coma.” _-God, I thought you were dead. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I’d lost you.-_ Her eyes fill with tears, awakening that old ache in my heart.

“C’mon, Carter. You should know I’m not that easy to kill,” I soothe. I cannot bear the pain in her face, even if I can’t remember the event she’s describing.

“What?” Her head snaps up to look at me.

“What, what?” As usual, the speed of her brain leaves me playing catch-up.

“What do you mean, kill?” she asks, tension thrumming in her voice.

I shrug a bruised shoulder and grimace. I must have hit the ramp quite hard when I fell out of the gate. “Thinking I was dead is a bit extreme.”

Her face freezes in a mask of horror. “I. I never said you were dead. You were unconscious.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” I’m not sure what I’m apologising for, but I’d say anything to stop the swirl of terror in her eyes. “Why are you in here?”

“Sir?” For once, it looks as if she can’t follow my train of thought.

I let my eyes travel deliberately over the white, Air-Force-issue hospital gown with blue piping she’s dressed in before looking back at her face with a raised eyebrow. “I assume you’re not wearing that to make me feel better about my lack of trousers.”

“Oh.” _-God, Sam, focus!-_ She lifts her left arm, twisting it so I can see the scrolling script tattooed on her skin, a flush spreading up her neck. “Janet wanted to monitor me because of this. You - you didn’t get anything painted on you as part of the ceremony, did you?”

A memory nudges me. Of her in a sleeveless blue dress that made her eyes shimmer cornflower blue, painted words leading my gaze over her skin. Then it fades, gossamer as a curtain floating on the wind, and the pressure on my chest forces my eyes to close.

“Sorry, Sir. I’ll leave you to rest.” Her words drift towards me on a lazy breeze. But then her voice is right inside me again, even though I can’t hear her speaking. 

_-I’m so glad you’re okay. Jack.-_

 

 


	3. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I pause. She’s staring at me, round-eyed, as if I’m an alien piece of code. But over my left shoulder, Hammond is leaning in, listening. I grab another thought spoken in her silent voice, and pull it from my mind into my mouth.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @ConnieN and @Lori227
> 
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

After days in the infirmary, even the briefing room feels welcoming. Of course, it could just be because she’s sitting next to me. 

By the time I woke up again, her bed beside me in the infirmary had been empty. Apparently, Fraiser had decided the rather intriguing tattoo which Carter said was only paint, but which had sunk into her skin, wasn’t life-threatening. She’d popped in to visit me, but always accompanied by either the doctor or a member of SG-1.

After three days, Fraiser had also decided there was no reason to keep me bed-bound. Or maybe she’d just figured my temper was more dangerous than whatever had caused me to pass out on my way back through the gate. I had finally regained my memories of our time on PX0305 and my headache had receded, along with the weird sensation of having Sam inside my head. Must have been a concussion. Though I didn’t mind the things the hallucination of her in my brain had said. Or the image I had of her fingers cupping my face, her lips pressed against mine …

“You really think it’s a good idea to go back there, Major?” General Hammond pins Carter to her seat with his question, and as always, my hackles rise at seeing her challenged, but I bite it down. He’s allowed. As long as he doesn’t push too hard.

“Well, Sir, if we don’t understand the phenomenon, we won’t know how to prevent its recurrence.” 

Her arms unfold on the table, hands gesturing as she twists to face the General. “It could have been anything - an atmospheric anomaly, or the effect of something he ate or drank during the ritual, or the result of going through a stargate too many times. If we hop in and straight out again, without making contact with the inhabitants of PX0305, we’ll be able to measure the background radiation of both the planet and its gate. If that’s normal and going to another planet in the same quadrant both cause no side-effects in the rest of us, we’ll know it was the ritual. And we’ll be able to clear Colonel O’Neill for duty.”

As always, her energy swelled to a crescendo while she spoke, then sunk into uncertainty as she finished. Just as it did every time, the rising made my heart lift alongside her. Just like every time, I longed to squeeze her fingers as it drained away — to whisper in her ear that she was brilliant, that she never had to apologise for the leaps her mind took. Without meaning to, I swing my chair closer to her, and my hand brushes the swirl of ink peeking out from under the black T-shirt covering her left arm.

The room shimmers around me for a second.

_-Please, George. Say yes. I almost lost him when we came back from that planet. I can’t lose him again. Please. Say yes. Please.-_

I can’t stop my sharp intake of breath at the shock of feeling her inside my head again. From across the room, Janet’s eyes narrow as she watches me. But Sam is focused on the General.

Slowly, I blow the breath I’ve sucked in out between my lips.

“I’m not disputing your theory, Major,” the General responds, looking pointedly at the tattoo on her arm. “Simply the need for you to go back there yourself. You may not have been detrimentally affected yet, but whatever happened on PX0305 physically altered you. Arguably even more than it did Colonel O’Neill. I’m simply not sure that it wouldn’t be better to send SG-5 to take the measurements.”

Dread I don’t understand blooms in my brain, dripping down into my chest, tightening my fingers into fists.

_-NO!-_

Shock waves reverberate through my skull with the violence of her silent shout. 

_-If they get it wrong, Janet’ll tell you it’s not safe, and you’ll agree, and he’ll be pulled off active duty. And I’ll lose him in a different way. Working with him is the only way I get to be near him. I have to run those tests. I can’t bear to just sit here while someone else controls his future. Please, George. Please, don’t do this.-_

Icy fingers curl around the back of my head and drip down my neck. 

I have been affected by the fall. I’m hallucinating her voice again, taking snippets of remembered conversations and twisting them into sentences inside my head. Maybe I am too old to travel through the gate again.

But then another sensation blooms around my heart. _George_ , she had said in my head, the second R rolling like dark velvet, in a way that I have never heard her say. 

Because I have never heard her say his name.

My heart skips in my chest. I cast my mind back over every remembered conversation of the past two years. _Jack_. She has never called me that either. And … My pulse thuds in my throat. _Please_. The word she repeats over and over in my head. Major Carter - correct, polite, Major Carter — has never spoken that in front of me.

It’s madness. The result of a concussion. But suddenly I am convinced that the words spooling frantically through my head in her voice are not being thought by me, but by her. And I don’t care how sick or mad that makes me. I want the terrified scroll of arguments to stop, so she can find peace again.

I catch onto the thread of one thought, holding my breath as I strain to follow its frantic beat inside my brain.

“General.” I force my voice to slow, to counter the argument I’m holding on to by a shiver. “General, you have to admit that it makes more sense to have her there. I mean, sure, she can explain the tests to SG-5, but the minuscule adjustments to suit the atmospheric pressure need to be done by an expert like her.”

I pause. She’s staring at me, round-eyed, as if I’m an alien piece of code. But over my left shoulder, Hammond is leaning in, listening. I grab another thought spoken in her silent voice, and pull it from my mind into my mouth.

“And besides, the fact that she was there may well BE the confounding factor. Having her repeat the test in person will eliminate one of the most important variables of them all. You have to let her do it, General.” 

My lips clamp shut around the final word in the thought I just spoke out loud. The word neither of us had ever spoken in the SGC. _Please_. It had been there again, filled with desperation.

Hammond sighs heavily, shakes his head. “Okay, Major. You’ve clearly convinced the leader of your team. You have a go.”

Relief washes thrrough me. But when I turn to smile victory at her, I find her wrapped tight in her arms, staring at me as if she’s just found me watching her undress.

 


	4. Fraiser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m worried about her, too.” The tiny doctor who has held so many lives in her hands pushes her chair back with a sigh. “She checks out normally, but after the debriefing this afternoon she said she was tired and went home early. She’s never done that. Did she say anything to you?”
> 
> If only she knew what I suspected.
> 
> \--oOo--

The afternoon is a comedy of frustration. Every time I’m free, she’s not in her lab. I need to see her, to know if I really was hearing her thoughts, as impossible as it seems. To talk it out, so she can stop looking at me as if I’m a Peeping Tom.

Eventually, I shove the shudder at the thought of facing the infirmary away and mooch in to Fraiser’s office, to ask Sam’s closest friend about her.

“I’m worried about her, too.” The tiny doctor who has held so many lives in her hands pushes her chair back with a sigh. “She checks out normally, but after the debriefing this afternoon she said she was tired and went home early. She’s never done that. Did she say anything to you?”

She crosses her arms across her chest.

“Not in so many words,” I stonewall. _If only she knew what I suspected_.

“I’ll check in on her on my way home tonight,” I offer instead, hoping I manage to sound casual.

“Thanks, Jack,” Fraiser sighs, her shoulders hunching as if the weight of caring for her friend is pressing her down, making her even smaller. Suddenly, she looks up. “You really had her back this afternoon in the debriefing. You make a good team. And she appreciates that, you know. She - I wonder if some of her fatigue isn’t a result of what happened to you. She wouldn’t leave your side the whole time you were unconscious.” 

Her voice grows quieter. “You mean a lot to her.”

Brown eyes flash up to mine, asking a question words dare not voice. Not in our position.

My jaw tightens. I give a small nod.

“Thanks, Doc.” I turn away before her eyes can drill deeper into my soul. “I’ll call you if she’s not okay. See ya tomorrow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ConnieN's fish course...
> 
> But it's okay, Jack whispered in my ear that he wants to skip mains and head straight for cake in the next chapter.


	5. Out loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For three perfect minutes, I watch the clock against her wall ticking with her hand in mine. Then she shifts, and I brace for the loss of her touch. But she picks up her beer in her right hand and takes a sip. 
> 
> -Extra avo on the pizza?- Her words in my mind are tentative.
> 
> “Of course extra avo on the pizza. You’re in my head. You could do damage in there if I did something as stupid as depriving you of avo.”
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @Rsundayr and all the happy sighs her daily distractions bring xo
> 
> \--oOo--

At her front door, I hesitate for the first time. Should I have brought something? Pizza? Wine? _Hi, Carter, I thought I’d buy you dinner to make up for thinking I can hear your thoughts, in case that freaks ya out._

For God’s sake.

I spin away, huffing like a stallion trapped in his stable on the first day of Spring.

Half an hour later I’m toeing the same line, but two steaming pizzas and and a six pack of her favourite Pilsner anchor my nerves as I knock.

A soft green sweater wraps her in a hug. But it doesn’t ease the trepidation in her eyes.

“Hi, Sir.”

She pulls the door open, toppling her face to the floor as she steps back to let me in.  “You didn’t have to bring food.” 

Her voice is flat, defeated. But the words rushing into my brain vibrate with nervous strength. _-Why are you haunting me? I don’t know what to do about the feeling that you’re inside my head. I can’t figure this out!-_

“Sounds as if you knew I’d come.” I follow her shrugged shoulder-point into her lounge and deposit my peace offering on her coffee table. 

_-You were here half an hour ago.-_

Inside my head, her silent voice is more than an answer. It’s an accusation I have to respond to. I roll my courage into a small ball in my hands, and prepare to answer something I’m still not sure was really said.

“I was.” My breath catches in my throat. “But I figured this conversation needs beer.” I shrug. “Also, I’m hungry.”

Pain flashes across her face, lighting her eyes, before she twists away. She sinks onto her couch.

Her shoulders sag in unspoken recognition.

_-You really heard me today?-_

I swallow. 

“Carter, I’m having the strangest sensation. As if you’re talking without moving your lips.”

She twists to face me, hiding her hands inside the sleeves of her sweater as if the pale green knit has the power to ward off our connection. She looks impossibly young.

Longing rushes through me. Longing to gather her in my arms. To tuck the errant wisps of hair out of her eyes. To press my mouth against her open lips an breathe in the cadence of her.

I can’t. I can’t move without knowing the impulse comes from her. With an inner growl that may well have been loud enough for her to hear, I reach for the beer.

“Your beer’s in the fridge, sir.”

A pleasant chill rakes over the skin of my back, and an image appears, sketched, devoid of extraneous detail. The entrance to her kitchen - glimpsed as I followed her from the front door. A drawing-covered fridge door opening. Two sets of bottles: her Pilsner on the left, the Lager I usually drink on the right.

My frown catches her eye, but an edge of uncertaintly pulls her glance away, and I’m not brave enough to challenge it. With a pop of knee joints, I rise and follow the mind-map I think I she showed me.

The fridge is picture-perfect, down to Cassie’s crayon pictures magneted to the door. I pull it open, my heart sinking and singing at once at the sight of six Lagers and four Pilsners, exactly where I’d expected them. 

 _-Top drawer, second from the left.-_ Her silent words in my brain are accompanied by a shimmering pencil-sketch of the drawers in her kitchen.

I blindly follow the instructions appearing in my brain. A bottle opener blinks up at me.

Fuck.

The cap of my beer clatters onto her countertop, and I take a long swig to steady myself before I walk back through to her, tossing the bottle opener up and down to the rhythm of my fear.

“You found it.” She looks at the opener as it arcs through the air again and again.

I try to push at the edges of my reality. _Because you told me where it was_ , I think in her direction.

Her eyes on my hand don’t move.

Okay. So this thing only goes one way.

“Because you told me where it was,” I repeat out loud.

She shrinks back as if my words are an electric current, shutting her eyes against the truth I know she’s been testing.

I want to gather her against me, to stroke her back until the tension melts away and her soft smile returns. Sighing, I sit down on her left side, my right knee nudging her leg to tell her where I am.

“And it seems you can only hear me when I speak out loud. Which, let’s face it, is a kindness all round. My brain can only be improved by your thoughts. Sticking my nonsense into your head is like vandalising a national treasure.”

For a second, her lips twitch into a small, tight smile, before sadness invades.

“That’s not true, Sir,” she mumbles. “Your ideas are unorthodox and brilliant.”

A tense pause. Then, still looking at her hands: “How long have you been hearing me for?”

“On and off since I flopped back through the gate like a sack o’ potatoes.”

“You — you hear everything?” Her voice cracks under the word.

I take another swig, hoping I’m coming across calmer than my thudding heart feels. “I doubt that. I’m not that much cleverer yet. It seems to be when you —” I cast my mind back over the past four days, “— when you’re thinking something at me. Like where the bottle opener is. Or when you’re, I don’t know. Worried? I didn’t hear you today until Hammond suggested sending SG-5 back to the planet without you.”

_-That means you can hear me when I lose control. When I — you can hear how I feel. NO! 199, 197, 193, 181, 179, 173…-_

Prime numbers. She’s counting backwards in prime numbers. One of the techniques we use to counter mind-probes during interrogation. A corner of my brain chuckles at her choice. Of course she would use the most complex tool available. I always just sing “The Twelve Days of Christmas” as off key as I can in my imagination.

But faster than my brain can marvel at her intellect, my body reacts to her spiralling fear. I lean in, wrap my hand around her wrist.

“Carter. This doesn’t have to feel like an interrogation. We’ll get through it. We’ll find a way. I promise.”

The numbers swirling in my head slow down, peter out, fade into silence. Her eyes remain riveted on my hand over her left wrist. Nudging at the edge of my awareness, an image floats. Of my hand, moving, finding her fingers, lacing my fingers between them.

Holding my breath, I loosen my grip on her wrist, slide my hand along her palm, find her fingers with mine. Next to me, I hear her soft exhale.

For three perfect minutes, I watch the clock against her wall ticking with her hand in mine. Then she shifts, and I brace for the loss of her touch. But she picks up her beer in her right hand and takes a sip. 

 _-Extra avo on the pizza?-_ Her words in my mind are tentative.

“Of course extra avo on the pizza. You’re in my head. You could do damage in there if I did something as stupid as depriving you of avo.”

This time, her huffed laugh is genuine. My heart comes to rest in my chest as we tear off slices and chew in companionable silence.

The gentle chiming of her clock reminds me that she is heading off-world tomorrow in a hard-won attempt to clear me for service. Fighting the urge to crush her to me, to tell her how much I care for her, I tidy up pizza boxes and stretch.

“I should let you rest up before you save my ass again tomorrow,” I say as I stand, hoping I’ve covered the regret in my tone with sufficient humour.

With a small nod, she walks alongside me to the front door.

On the threshold, the fingers of her left hand brush against mine. 

 _-83, 79, 73, 71-_ The litany of numbers starts again, but bobbing behind them is an image burning bright, of her rising up on her toes, running her fingertips along my jaw, pressing her mouth against mine.

My heart is a colt rushing through daisies. But the prime numbers beat their warning in my brain.

Moving slowly so as not to startle her, I echo the movements in her image. My fingertips trace the soft skin at the corner of her jaw, marveling at its gentle warmth. I tilt her face up to mine, taking in the fear in her eyes, the hummingbirdwing flutter of her heart in her throat. My mouth presses against her lips, tasting the fast beat of her breath.

Regret pours grey into the evening as I pull away.

“Good night, Sam,” I whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

 


	6. Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can I tell her how much I wish I could take this responsibility off her shoulders? How can I tell her in a room full of people who can’t know about three perfect minutes last night when our fingers found peace in each other’s grasp?
> 
> “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?” I force an unfelt smile around the lame-ass excuse of an attempt at telling her she’s the centre of my world.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long day, light on time to indulge in the story.
> 
> But I offer a tiny nibble of sweetness to all of you incredible people who also work too hard.  
> May this be a small reward for the difficulties you survived today.
> 
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

It feels strange to stand back while she and the team walk onto on the ramp, poised to step through the gate that leads back to PX0305 without me. 

A doomdrum of anxiety vibrates from her, despite her calm exterior.

I can feel my jaw tightening against the urge to rush forward and shield her with my body.

“Carter?”

We’re surrounded by people, but the air between us quiets as she turns earnest blue-grey eyes on me. 

How can I tell her how much I wish I could take this responsibility off her shoulders? How can I tell her in a room full of people who can’t know about three perfect minutes last night when our fingers found peace in each other’s grasp?

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?” I force an unfelt smile around the lame-ass excuse of an attempt at telling her she’s the centre of my world.

For a split-second, the air around me glows. Then an image, crystal clear, an image filled with the lemon and vanilla scent of her, invades my mind. Her front door, my fingers feathering her cheek, my lips pressed against her soft mouth.

_-I’ll see you tonight.-_

The thought floats lazily towards me, catching my heart, lifting it into the silent air.

“I’ll do my best, Sir,” she smiles, before turning and nodding to the team gathered behind her.

“I’m gonna hold ya to that, Carter,” I growl at her back.

Her head bobs once before she steps into the blue, and I hope to God she realised I was talking about kissing her again tonight.


	7. Puppetmaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’re standing on an emerald green lawn. She’s wearing a sleeveless white dress that billows behind her in the breeze, folding in a deep V around the rise of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples. She takes a step towards me, another, and presses the length of her body against me as she pulls me into a kiss. Her tongue traces my lips, my teeth, and I thrill under the pressure of her fingers on my neck. 
> 
> “Sam,” I breathe against her as my hands drift under the straps of her dress. 
> 
> It’s unsettling. I’m seeing myself moving, feeling everything with twice the intensity, as the sensations of both my hands and her skin under them sing in tandem through my brain. But I’m not in control of my movements. This is her dream, and she moves my hands over her body, my tongue over the soft skin of her neck, without me being able to do anything about it. She is my puppetmaster, moving me in the ways she wants. I shudder with desire as her sleeping form releases a whispered whimper of pleasure, but keep my hands still on her arm. Whatever happens, I don’t want to wake her now.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little dreaming, and a lot of angst, for everyone stuck in self-isolation right now.
> 
> May it bring a moment of distraction from a frightening world.
> 
> \--oOo--

The pain strikes the second she stumbles back through the gate: a heated knife dragged over and over into the screaming muscles of my left arm. 

“What the fuck!” I grab my arm convulsively, swaying with the impact of the burning knives, and my eyes catch her pale face, her mouth open as she pants against the pain and fear. She also cradles her arm against her body, and Daniel and Teal’c tighten their arms around her to keep her upright.

Fraiser rushes towards the trio on the ramp.

“Sam! What happened?”

“It was the ritual,” she grinds out between her teeth, “not the planet. I’m the only one affected.”

“We need to get you to the infirmary.” The doctor’s words are clipped and urgent.

“Major Carter, may I help?” Even as Teal’c speaks, he is lifting her off the ground, cradling her against his chest, striding ahead of the medical team while the rest of us trail mutely behind. 

“I can’t believe you stayed on for two hours. That was reckless, Sam. We have no idea what damage it may have caused.”

Sam’s head rolls in agony as the Doctor eases her jacket off her arm to reveal the swirling, pulsing ink carving blades of pain into her.

“We had to know, Janet.” Her voice is a whimper.

“Not at the expense of your health!” 

Fraiser is close to losing control of her emotions, but her anger is nothing next to the nauseating burning consuming me. I can only imagine how much worse it is for the fierce blonde woman writhing on the infirmary bed. Another wave of nausea climbs from my belly into my throat, and through the red haze squeezing darkness into the edges of my vision, I realise that, too, is coming to me from her. 

I shove Daniel away from the supply rack he’s leaned against, grab an empty metal dish and rush towards her as she heaves.

She grabs the rim of the bowl with her left hand as she empties bile and fear and blinding pain from her stomach. My right hand settles across her shoulders, the left surrounding her hand, steadying the bowl.

“It’s okay, Carter,” I whisper against her sweat-soaked hair, drawing on words of comfort I last used on Charlie. “I gotcha. Get rid of it. Better out than in. I gotcha.”

Her convulsive grip on the bowl loosens, trembling beneath my fingers.

“It’s better now.” Her breath comes in short, rasping pants. Sweat pearls above her lip. Her shoulders droop into my arm.

 And I realise the pain has retreated. My left arm shakes under the memory.

“God, Carter. I felt that. What the fuck?” My voice is low enough for only her to understand my words. 

She turns eyes, dark grey with the aftermath of agony, on me. “It has to be the ritual. Daniel and Teal’s were fine. Background radiation on the planet was normal, too.”

My own voice is also still unsteady, but I don’t care. 

“You don’t have to debrief me right now.” I force a trembling laugh as I twist away to hand the bowl to a waiting orderly.

“NO!”

Her shout and the lancing pain in my arm penetrate together, and I curl protectively back around her, trying to shield her. The second my palm touches the ink on her left arm, the burning pain evaporates.

She slumps back onto the bed, exhaustion etched in the lines around her tightly closed eyes. 

“The ritual,” she says again, her words slurring tiredly. “Must be. You touched my arm after Alyssa painted it. Must be linked…” 

I ache to press kisses against her eyelids. Instead, in the crowded room, under twenty watchful eyes, I gently worm my right arm out from under her shoulders, placing my right hand lightly over the ink on her arm, covering it, glaring a silent warning at Fraiser should she even think of moving me.

“Well, whatever it was, Carter, we can figure it out later. You need to rest. I won’t let go of your arm if that helps the pain.”

The furrow between the doctor’s eyes deepen, but as Sam’s muttered thank you fades into sleep, she gives a tight-lipped nod and steps away.

—oOo—

I roll my shoulders and shift into a more comfortable position on the edge of her bed, and in the semi-darkness of the night-time infirmary, I allow my fingers to stroke the soft skin over which the ink still curls. 

_The love you seek is in your hands._ I read the swirling letters again, sighing with frustration and useless, pent-up anger at the old woman who had painted them on her. Whatever weird science hides behind the intricate patterns — the fact that only I can read it and that returning to the planet caused them to morph into strands of molten, burning metal — whatever the fuck is behind it, the old crone should have known that I wasn’t seeking love any longer. She should have seen in the way I looked at Sam that I already loved her with every fibre of my being, even though I could never jeopardise her integrity, her career, by admitting that to her.

On the bed, she shifts in her sleep, a soft smile painting her lips. An image, sweet and sleep-drenched, nudges against the seething anger in my mind. 

_We’re standing on an emerald green lawn. She’s wearing a sleeveless white dress that billows behind her in the breeze, folding in a deep V around the rise of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples. She takes a step towards me, another, and presses the length of her body against me as she pulls me into a kiss. Her tongue traces my lips, my teeth, and I thrill under the pressure of her fingers on my neck._

_“Sam,” I breathe against her as my hands drift under the straps of her dress._

It’s unsettling. I’m seeing myself moving, feeling everything with twice the intensity, as the sensations of both my hands and her skin under them sing in tandem through my brain. But I’m not in control of my movements. This is her dream, and she moves my hands over her body, my tongue over the soft skin of her neck, without me being able to do anything about it. She is my puppetmaster, moving me in the ways she wants. I shudder with desire as her sleeping form releases a whispered whimper of pleasure, but keep my hands still on her arm. Whatever happens, I don’t want to wake her now.

_Her shoulderblades rise under my palms as I tug the broad straps over her arms, watching in awe as the delicate fabric opens over her breasts, catching for a moment on the tight buds of her nipples before slipping free. My breath hitches with longing to take them in my mouth, to soothe my tongue over them, tasting her arousal._

_The dress pools at her feet, drawing my eyes down her naked body and back up to her face. I can feel hot need pulsing in her core as I look at her. I harden painfully. Every inch of her is perfect. Her fingers find the fastening on my trousers. Slowly, keeping her eyes on mine, she opens them, pushes them down my thighs._

_She steps in closer._

_“Jack,” she mouths as she takes the length of my shaft in her hand._

I jolt next to her on the bed, reflexively tightening my hands on her arm. The sensations are so real, my need for her and hers for me driving me towards the edge of a cliff. I swallow, searching desperately for control. I have to back away before she wakes and knows what she’s been sharing with me. Even though the knowledge that she wants me too sends my heart soaring.

Carefully, one by one, I lift my fingers away from her skin.

She moans in her sleep, a sound of loss and longing, and rolls over, twining her fingers into mine, keeping me bound. Her mouth moves in her sleep, shaping words in the air that drop silently into my mind.

_-Don’t be scared, Jack. I love you. I want you. Make love to me.-_

My jaw clenches against the force of need that breaks over me. My breath turns into short, shallow gasps as the image shifts back into focus in my head, her imagination moving me.

_My hands trace the curve of her back, feeling the ripples of pleasure that roll off her as my fingers rise and fall with the outline of her spine, the arc of her ribs. I cup her ass and pull her into me. Heat explodes at her core and her hand releases me. Instead, she presses her mound against my length with an open-mouthed moan of anticipation._

Oh, God.   
In the dim space that smells of pain and disinfectant, I fight my body for control as her dream rushes on.

_I move against her, nudging her slick folds aside until I’m pressed in hard, feeling her throbbing against me. I have to kiss her. I have to know her breath against my lips. My one hand encircles her, holding her close. The other tangles into her hair, and I can feel her thrill as I press her mouth onto mine, feel heat coiling in her belly and rising along her spine, pulsing as she opens her lips under mine, climbing higher as my tongue pushes deep inside her, growing, building, crashing into gasping, shuddering, soaring, floating release._

Her fingers stroke the top of my hand on her arm, gentling me back into my body, my heart back into a steady rhythm from its wild gallop. Her eyes drift open above her smile. Dreamily, she takes me in, slides her eyes from my awe-struck face to my hand under hers, down my body, to where not even the dimness of the room can hide the physical ache of longing that her dream ignited in me.

“Hmmm.” Her eyelids droop again, and snippets of her dream float at me as it spools back through her memory.

Suddenly, she slams into wakefulness, yanking her hand off mine as if I’ve burnt her, crawling backwards to the far end of the narrow cot, wrapping her legs in her arms. 

Panic pours through her, setting my own heart racing again. But as I reach forward to reassure her, she flinches away. Guilt and shame, cold, dank, stinking, fold clammy wings around me as they roll off her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, horror dripping from her lips. “God, I’m sorry.” She spasms around the words, turning away from me, hiding in the midnight shadows.

“Carter, it’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

My words stumble, clumsy, over a tongue that longs to tell her that her dream echoed my thoughts of her, every moment I’m alone. But the shame that cocoons her will not let in the smallest chink of comfort.

Hurt flushes my neck with heat. Am I that repulsive to her? 

But then what about the happiness that filled her eyes when she first opened them? 

I push up to standing, feeling unsteady under the weight of my confusion, my desire, and her guilt.

“I’m gonna give you space, ok,” I mumble. “But I’ll be nearby. Carter, call me if your arm starts hurting. Please. I’m here for you.”

Feeling my way through the darkness, past the tears stinging my eyes, I fumble for the door and pull it closed behind me, before sinking to the floor with my head in my hands.

 

 

 


	8. Three years and thirteen days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. For three years and thirteen days, I’ve promised myself she would never know. Yet, on a nondescript Friday afternoon in June, I prepare to break my cardinal rule. 
> 
> I pull my shoulders back and rush in.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unicorns, writing is my therapy.
> 
> Today, I had to tell my sales team to work from home. Not great for their sales or my business. And I know that I'm still so much less affected by Covid-19 than many others.
> 
> So, on a day when the world is a bit of trashfire, I wrote a ray of sunshine, because I needed it. 
> 
> I hope it brings a moment of light to your days, too. 
> 
> Wherever you are, stay safe and sane, and know that you are important.
> 
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

“So because the other two members of SG-1 were unaffected, the only permutation left to investigate is whether I am affected on another planet in the same quadrant, Sir. If I’m unaffected, by extension Colonel O’Neill will be too.”

All her attention is focused on General Hammond as she speaks, leaning forward in her briefing-room chair. 

 _-Trust me, trust me, trust me, trust me.-_ She thinks the words in an endless loop, and I’m honestly not sure whether she’s sending them at me or him. All I know is I want to ease the tension in her jaw, to wipe away the pain haunting her eyes.

“Or I could go,” I venture. “You were in a bad state when you got back from PX0305 there yesterday, Carter. No need for you to do that to yourself again to clear me for duty. I feel fine. I can go.”

“It was uncomfortable, Sir, I admit. But I didn’t lose consciousness the way you did. I am the smaller risk.” 

Her words are perfectly measured, but an image slams into my head, of her crouched over me on the ramp, her fingers pressed into the side of my neck to feel for a pulse. Terror and love rush through me. And I’m not sure if I’m feeling her emotions or my own.

“I’m a grumpy old soldier, Major,” I try to quell the feelings flooding my chest with humour, hoping I will calm her somehow. “You’re a genius. You’re the greater loss.”

Her eyes flash fire at me. _-Stop it! How can you say that when you know how I fee… ? FUCK. 193, 191, 187, 183…-_

“Colonel, Major, while your display of mutual respect is admirable, neither of you is going anywhere until you both pass a complete health check.” 

With a single sentence, the tiny doctor commands the room, even Hammond turning to face her as she continues. 

“It’s Friday. I suggest, for once, you both take a weekend off to relax and recover. On Monday morning we can decide who, if anyone, is fit for travel.”

With a thwack that makes me start, Hammond closes his briefing document. “You heard the doctor, people. Take a weekend. I’ll see you on Monday. Dismissed.”

She is the first to push back her chair and leave the room, a litany of prime numbers trailing in her wake, leaving me alone and bereft.

—oOo—

The door to her lab is almost completely shut. A bad sign. Usually she invites people in with an open door, even when she’s in the middle of unfathomable calculations. I push the image of her in a flowing, white dress out of my mind and knock.

“Come in.” She sounds preoccupied, engrossed in something I’ll never grasp. That’s good, I think, as I push the door open and step inside.

The minute she sees me, guilt ricochets off the walls of the room, an avalanche threatening to drown us both. 

She wraps her arms around her waist, cocooning the dread around her in a nearly visible shimmer. Shame rains down on me in shards. Shame, and the fleeting image of her naked body pressed against me.

_-FUCK! 87, Washington, 83, Adams, 73, Jefferson, 71, Madison …-_

God. She’s overlaying presidents on prime numbers. The most complex interrogation-busting technique combined with the second most complex. I want to kneel down and worship her mind as much as her body.

But more than anything, stronger than the thick need in my blood to step back through the gate, deeper than the desire to mean something again, throbs the necessity to assuage her guilt.

“Carter.” My throat is tight around the words. “Sam.”

She flinches at her name. Goddamnit. My pulse quickens with urgency.

“Sam, just listen, okay? Stop thinking for a second and listen. I’m gonna talk, and then I’m gonna go. I’m gonna leave you in peace. But you have to hear this first.”

The presidents and numbers do not slow, but behind her cautious eyes, they fade into something quieter, less overwhelming.

This is it. For three years and thirteen days, I’ve promised myself she would never know. Yet, on a nondescript Friday afternoon in June, I prepare to break my cardinal rule. 

I pull my shoulders back and rush in.

“I fell in love with you three years and thirteen days ago.”

The air between us crystallises. She doesn’t move, but I can feel her her stiffening. And for once in the last four days, I don’t know what that means. I only know I can’t afford to wait any longer. I can’t let her bear this weight alone.

“I mean, I was attracted to you from the second you sassed me in the briefing room that very first day. But on Simarka, when that fucking Turghan abducted you and treated you like—” my whole body tenses around the memory “— like some animal he could possess, and you kept your poise, and kicked his ass, and showed an entire civilisation of women what they’re worth …”

My words die away, captured in the limpid air between us like flies in amber. Her lips are parted. She’s breathing faster than my heart can move.

Swallowing, I force myself on.

“I promised myself I’d never lay that weight on you. I’m your Commanding Officer. There was no way I could,” I break off again, hands flailing in the liquid crystal stretched silently between us, trying to capture the right word. 

My shoulders slump in defeat.

“Carter, I could never tell you without feeling that I was forcing you into a situation where you couldn’t say yes or no. You’re a fucking force of nature. You’ll end up leading this entire base one day, I swear. I couldn’t hold back your career. I. I can’t hold back your career. Don’t want to. But every day I spend with you, I find a new thing to love about you.”

I tear my eyes away from her flushing face, staring at my fists as I admit the reason I’m really here. I can’t look at her while saying this.

“Every day, I imagine kissing you. Every night, I fall asleep dreaming of making love to you. I hate that I’m an intruder in your brain. I hate that I can’t give you the dignity of privacy. I wish to fucking God I could change that.”

Regret curdles in my throat, and I have to force the final sentence out.

“But I won’t - I can’t - bear you feeling shame over something I dream of every day. I can’t bear it.”

Shouts of emotion thunder off the walls, but I can’t stay to feel them. Clenching my fists, I reach blindly for the door.

“That’s all I wanted to say. I’ll give ya space now.”

I don’t stop shaking until I pull my truck into the driveway at my house.

—oOo—

A long run and a scalding shower force the trembling tension out of my muscles, even though my mind still twangs.

I can’t be inside. The walls are too restrictive. As the sun drops to the horizon, painting the sky with peach and gold, I open the doors wide and sink onto the porch steps, hanging my head against the beauty of the dying day. A sunset is too delicate for the emptiness in my chest.

I sense her presence before I hear her footsteps on the lawn. I lift my head in trepidation.

Pain, loneliness, tension, reverberate from her eyes. But as she stops in front of me, she holds out a hand, and a new feeling spills from her fingers towards me. Something green and hopeful.

Not daring to speak, I rise, brush my knuckles against hers.

Her smile is hesitant, guilt and fear still warring in the thoughts that pulse from her. But her hand slips into mine.

“I don’t want space,” she whispers.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Yes, that was a self-isolation joke. 
> 
> *ducks*


End file.
